The underwing felt colder the moment Kai's symbol changed.
Not temperature-cold.
Truth-cold.
Like the academy itself had decided to stop pretending it cared which version of someone survived.
On the Runic Grave wall, the line pulsed faintly:
KAI RHEN — 7 DAYS — 🪞
Mirror death.
Replacement.
Lina stared at it until her eyes hurt, as if staring hard enough could keep the future from stepping closer.
Kai's hand tightened around hers.
It wasn't romantic.
It was survival.
"We move," Kai said, voice low. "Now."
The Veilbound watched them like patient predators.
One tilted its blank porcelain mask toward Lina, voice smooth as silk over stone.
"A tether isn't only a bond," it murmured. "It's a handle."
Lina's flame rose, gold edged black. "Touch him and I'll burn your mask off."
The Veilbound's laugh was soft. "You won't. Not here. Not under the runes."
Seren's eyes glowed, scanning the room as if listening for hidden doors. "We need to get out. The longer we stay, the wall keeps writing."
Mira clung to Lina's arm, shaking. "I can't… I can't remember what day it is."
🕯️
Memory burn.
Lina's throat tightened. "Mira, look at me. Say your name."
"Mira Sun," Mira whispered.
"Again," Lina said, voice firm.
"Mira Sun."
"Stay real," Lina whispered.
"I'm here," Mira breathed, tears shining.
Reyon's mask shifted as he swallowed. "Okay. We're doing roll call in a death basement. Wonderful."
Then the chamber lights flickered—runic bands on the walls pulsing like veins.
The Veilbound stepped back in perfect synchronization, as if giving space for something to arrive.
A ripple passed through the air.
The kind of ripple Lina had felt in the Mirror Corridor.
The kind that meant reality was being… edited.
Kai's shadow snapped tight under his feet.
"Don't look in the mirrors," Kai warned automatically.
Lina's breath hitched. "There aren't mirrors here."
Kai's gaze flicked to the Runic Grave.
His voice went rough. "The wall is a mirror."
The stone behind them shimmered.
Not a reflective shimmer.
A shifting shimmer—like glass forming out of darkness.
A figure stepped out of the shadow at the edge of the chamber.
Tall.
Calm.
Straight-backed.
The same silhouette Lina had learned to recognize even in her nightmares.
Kai.
He walked with the same quiet confidence.
He had the same dark hair.
The same controlled posture.
The same faint shadow ripple under his feet.
And the same mask.
Lina's stomach turned because it looked perfect.
Too perfect.
The new Kai stopped two steps away from them and looked at Lina.
His eyes were the exact shade.
His gaze held the exact weight.
Then he spoke in Kai's voice—soft and familiar.
"Lina."
Lina's flame hissed under her skin.
Kai—real Kai—stiffened beside her.
Reyon whispered, barely audible, "Okay. That's… not allowed. The universe can't have two Kaises."
Seren's breath caught. "That's the mirror replacement. It's here early."
Mira stared, trembling. "Which one—"
Lina didn't answer.
Her bones burned—bone-tether warning her that this wasn't just a visual trick.
This was a name being walked into.
The Veilbound's voice drifted from the shadows, pleased.
"See?" it murmured. "We don't cut the tether. We redirect it."
Mirror Kai's gaze stayed locked on Lina.
And he smiled—just slightly.
Kai never smiled like that.
Not openly.
Not when danger was near.
Lina's throat tightened.
Mirror Kai stepped closer.
"Come," he said softly. "We should leave this place."
Kai's grip on Lina's hand tightened so hard it hurt.
"Don't," Kai rasped.
Mirror Kai's eyes flicked to Kai—real Kai—like noticing an inconvenience.
"You're hurt," Mirror Kai said calmly. "You're compromised."
Kai's jaw clenched. "Stay away from her."
Mirror Kai tilted his head. "She's already holding my name."
Lina's ribs burned at the words.
Because it was true.
Kai's name was carved into her bones.
And the mirror was trying to use that carved truth as a leash.
Lina forced breath into her lungs.
She lifted her chin.
"Say my name," Lina commanded.
Mirror Kai didn't hesitate.
"Lina Veris," he replied.
Clean.
Perfect.
Too perfect.
The Name Test required strain—human breath, human tremor, human intent.
This answer was printed.
Kai—real Kai—stepped half a pace closer to Lina, voice low. "Again."
Mirror Kai's gaze stayed steady.
"Lina Veris."
Seren whispered, "No tremor."
Reyon muttered, "He sounds like an audiobook."
Lina's flame rose slightly, gold and dangerous. "Stay real."
Mirror Kai smiled. "I am."
The lie didn't break.
Because mirrors could mimic words.
They struggled with identity anchors.
Lina swallowed, then used the other tool—the one designed to catch perfection.
"The Three-Question Trap," Lina said, voice hard. "Answer."
Mirror Kai's expression didn't change.
Kai—real Kai—went still, watching.
Lina's hands shook, but her voice stayed steady.
"What do you fear the most?"
Mirror Kai paused just long enough to look thoughtful.
Then answered:
"Losing you."
Lina's stomach dropped.
Reyon whispered, "That's… romantic."
Seren's eyes narrowed. "Too romantic."
Lina's throat tightened. "Who do you miss when you're alone?"
Mirror Kai's gaze softened.
"You," he said quietly.
Lina's fingers went cold.
Again too perfect.
Again too neat.
Lina's jaw clenched. "What word do you hate being called?"
Mirror Kai's gaze flicked down for a fraction.
Then he said:
"Oathbreaker."
Kai—real Kai—flinched like he'd been struck.
His mark pulsed faintly.
Lina's breath caught.
That wasn't a generic answer.
That was a wound.
That was something only Kai would choose if he was being honest.
For one terrifying second, Lina's certainty wavered.
What if the mirror had stolen enough?
What if it had copied not only the surface, but the scars?
Reyon's sticky illusions chose that moment to betray him.
A ripple of shadow flashed across Mirror Kai's face—like his features briefly lagged behind his expression. His eyes blinked out of sync.
A thin hairline crack of light ran down his mask and vanished.
Mirror Kai's smile flickered.
Not emotionally.
Mechanically.
Like a glitch.
Reyon gasped. "Oh my god. It's buffering."
Seren's eyes widened. "Your residue is interfering. It's making the mirror stutter."
Kai—real Kai—let out a rough breath. "It's not me."
Lina's heart hammered.
Mirror Kai stepped closer, voice softer now—dangerously intimate.
"Lina," he murmured, "you don't have to fight. You've been brave enough."
Lina's bones burned at the word.
Her anchor word.
The private truth Kai had answered in Chapter 67.
Mirror Kai's gaze held hers.
And he said, perfectly—flawlessly—like he'd been there when it was spoken:
"You're brave. Like it scares me."
Lina froze.
Her blood turned to ice.
Because that phrase wasn't public.
It wasn't overheard.
It was theirs.
Kai—real Kai—went rigid beside her.
His grip on Lina's hand loosened for a split second—like his strength faltered.
Lina felt the bone-tether surge.
Not toward Kai beside her.
Toward the Kai in front of her.
Toward the mirror wearing his truth like a stolen shirt.
Kai's voice broke. "Lina—don't—"
Lina's chest tightened, panic rising.
She looked at Kai beside her—real Kai—his eyes sharp, desperate, pain flickering as his mark pulsed.
Then she looked at Mirror Kai—calm, perfect, speaking their private line like it belonged to him.
Behind them, the Runic Grave wall hummed, hungry.
And Lina felt something terrifying:
A tug in her bones.
Like the tether was trying to choose.
Kai—real Kai—staggered, breath hitching.
His outline flickered faintly at the edges—like the air couldn't hold him as firmly anymore.
Like the mirror was pulling his name out of his skin.
Seren's voice cracked, horrified. "He's fading."
Mira sobbed softly. "No…"
Reyon whispered, shaking, "The mirror is stealing the slot."
Mirror Kai stepped closer, hand extended toward Lina, voice gentle.
"Come," he said. "Take my hand. You'll feel better."
And Lina's bones—traitorous, burning—pulled toward him.
Because the mirror had her anchor phrase.
Because it had her fear.
Because it had Kai's name.
And in the shimmer of runes, the real Kai's voice came out raw and broken:
"Lina… say my name."
To be Continued© Kishtika., 2025
All rights reserved.